


Perspectives

by UnproblematicMe



Series: Enemies with Benefits [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: He denied fiercely to himself that he worried about the stupid angel’s safety. As a demon he of course was concerned how much good an unsupervised angel could do.After their encounter at the hospital, Crowley does not know what to make of these strange feelings he suddenly has. So he stays away from Aziraphale for a while. But then Aziraphale leaves London.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Enemies with Benefits [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041888
Comments: 52
Kudos: 124
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	1. Chapter 1

_“It’s just a game. I’d never force you to…”_

_“I_ know _that!”_

_“I didn’t know you had a soft spot for children.”_

_“I don’t.”_

_“That’s even better.”_

_“What?”_

_“Not a soft spot but a sense of fairness,”_

With a frustrated growl Crowley grabbed his spare pillow and pressed it on his face to muffle his curses. Not that his neighbours would hear anything he wanted them not to hear, but somehow he wanted to hide even from the empty room how much he was affected.

Aziraphale was not at all scared of him. Had Crowley lost his touch? His demonic vibes? Had he gone native? Soft even? No, that could not be. Aziraphale was not afraid of Crowley because Crowley did not want that! Yes, that was it. How in the Heavens would he get the cute angel to spread his legs if Aziraphale was scared of him?

Nevertheless, it gnawed on Crowley. Sure, he was not scared of Aziraphale either, but that was a different thing. For an angel it was fine to instead of instilling fear, causing a warm and fuzzy feeling. To humans! Aziraphale did that to humans! Not to Crowley!

After the weird sex near the hospital… well, the sex had not been weird but hot. The whole ordeal around it, the looks, the conversation, the circumstances had been extremely weird. A week had passed and Crowley avoided Aziraphale while he tried to understand what was going on.

Unfortunately he had to admit that he missed Aziraphale. No! No, he missed the sex, not Aziraphale. Just the sex. That breath-taking, toe-curling, amazingly hot sex with an admittedly cute and not quite so boring angel.

However, he was not ready to face Aziraphale again and so he started hanging around in Soho, watching the bookshop. Even though he was not exactly sure why, he felt the need to keep an eye on Aziraphale.

Aziraphale for his part did nothing out of the ordinary. Now and again Crowley could see him through one of the windows, puttering about the shop, leaving for lunch, returning to puttering and retreating to his flat after closing time.

Everything seemed normal until - after about another week - Aziraphale, a bag in hand, at late morning got in a cab and drove away. Frowning Crowley watched the car disappear around a corner, but in the end he shrugged it off. Probably Aziraphale was just about to meet an important business partner. Maybe someone had a very valuable book to sell. Valuable enough for Aziraphale to make a house call.

Only Aziraphale did not return for the whole day. When the street lamps switched on, Crowley got a bit nervous. He denied fiercely to himself that he worried about the stupid angel’s safety. As a demon he of course was concerned how much good an unsupervised angel could do.

So when Aziraphale was not back at midnight, Crowley decided to take action. He paid the waitress who had not been wondering at all why the strange red-headed man had sat in her café all day and half the night, consuming nothing but a newspaper and a black coffee. Then he walked across the street and let himself into the darkened bookshop.

Even before they had regular sexual encounters, Crowley had collected a lot of information about his counterpart. It was important to gather as much and as precise intel about an enemy.

“What you know is dangerous to your enemy. What you _think_ you know is dangerous to yourself,” Crowley had once told Hastur and Ligur when they questioned his interest in the angel. Lucky for him, Satan heard and was very impressed by this wise words.[1]

So Crowley knew that by this time of day, or better night, Aziraphale usually was at home, in his bedroom, his desk lamp’s night giving away that he was probably reading. Crowley took a certain amount of pride in being the only one, getting Aziraphale tired enough to actually sleep at night.

Today however, Aziraphale was neither reading nor sleeping. At least not here in his home. So Crowley began snooping around.

He started his search in Aziraphale’s small flat above the shop. Crowley took in the faint smell of tea and baked goods, reminding him of the taste on the angel’s lips. But here was nothing that told Crowley where Aziraphale had gone.

In the bedroom, however, Crowley made a find. On Aziraphale’s small writing desk he discovered a flyer for a bake sale that took place today. This was not surprising. Aziraphale loved doing good and eating cake. So a bake sale was a great opportunity for him. The event however was not in London. The flyer spoke of a convent, run by the “St. Carolin-Order of the Blessed Tongue”, in a town named Bridgebardrew. Crowley had never heard of it so it could not be _that_ famous for its baked goods and even Aziraphale would not leave London just to eat simple cake. Well, actually, maybe he would, but it still did not explain why he was not back yet.

At first Crowley furrowed his brow in confusion, but then – with a sudden flash of wit – he grabbed the piece of paper and turned it in his hand. Sure enough, he spotted scribblings in Aziraphale’s messy handwriting on the white back of the colourful flyer.

_Reformed?_

_Danger?_

_ML spotted nearby_

_Gather more info_

Crowley frowned. While this made probably perfect sense in Aziraphale’s pret… clev… stubborn head, it did not really help Crowley. At least “gather more info” was something he understood and so he made his way down to the bookshop to the angel’s ancient computer.

In a way it was exciting. A little mystery. A little angel hunt.

Sighing, Crowley found that Aziraphale had only turned off the screen of his PC while the machine itself was still running. After shaking his head, Crowley sat down in the desk chair, switched the monitor back on and was presented with Aziraphale last visited websites and a still open text document.[2] Careless on the angel’s part but helpful for Crowley.

The first website Crowley opened was about the Order that ran the convent, Aziraphale had typed the names of the nuns mentioned there into the text document[3], marking some of them with a star. At first Crowley could not make any sense of it until one of the marked names caught his attention: Sister Mary Loquacious.

Crowley might not care very much for the humans who crossed his path, but he never forgot them. One could never know when such knowledge might become important. Sister Mary Loquacious was the cheerful nun he had handed the Antichrist to, many years ago. Crowley was not sure what had happened to the “Chattering Order of St. Beryl” after it had served its purpose and placed the Antichrist. But the operation was supervised by Hastur who did not like to leave lose ends. So Crowley had always assumed Hastur had killed the nuns after they had outlived their usefulness. Since he did not enjoy looking at smoking ruins full of dead bodies, Crowley never went back to check.

A quick google search showed that his assumptions had been wrong. Putting the names Aziraphale had marked in the search bar, proved that at least some of them were still alive. And they all had one entry in common: orderoftheblessedtongue.com. Apparently the ladies who had been able to escape Hastur had regrouped and formed a new order. Aziraphale – maybe by intuition or thanks to vigilance – had found out and tracked them down.

Narrowing his eyes at the computer screen, Crowley went through Aziraphale’s browser history and quickly found the website of a Bed&Breakfast in Bridgebardrew which was, according to their advertising, close to the convent (as well as a petting zoo and the local mustard museum).

Crowley grinned. He wrote down the address and was out of the door a mere minute later. He locked the bookshop safely after leaving and slid into his car.

“Can’t have Aziraphale stopping some perfectly respectable satanic nuns from rebuilding their order, can we?” he told the Bentley who really did not care.

Smirking, he started the motor and followed the track of his Divine prey.

It was a six hour drive and when Crowley finally arrived at the convent in Bridgebardrew the sun was already rising in the east, flowing in red and gold over the picturesque scene the old building made, surrounded by bright meadows and dark woods.

Crowley parked his Bentley amongst a group of trees, casting them a dark look which made clear that he would not stand for leaves or other kinds of dirt on his car.

From the border of the woods he looked around the area. He was sure he could feel Aziraphale, but the angel was not in sight. Crowley was about to shrug it off as echoes of Aziraphale’s signature and drive to the B&B when he saw a figure walk across the meadow towards the building.

Grinning, Crowley watched Aziraphale disappear into the building and followed him. Aziraphale seemed deep in thought, but to be safe Crowley suppressed his demonic aura as he snuck into the convent after Aziraphale.

The angel made his way up the stairs, a miracle hiding him from mortal eyes. Crowley followed Aziraphale, until Aziraphale disappeared into a room on the second floor and closed the door behind him.

Judging from the neighbouring rooms, it was an office, and judging from the dust all around, a hardly used one. But if Crowley’s sense of orientation did not deceive him, considering height and depth of the building, the room was pretty much the middle of the structure. Ideal for a miracle.

“Oh no, you don’t, angel,” Crowley said with a grin and low growl.

He kicked the door open and – looking as cool as possible – sauntered into the room. Near the window stood Aziraphale.

The sunlight streaming over him caught in his blond curls, his deep blue eyes were wide open in surprise, his pink lips were parted slightly and his right hand was lifted for a miracle.

“Crowley?” he breathed out.

A toothy grin on his face, Crowley crossed the room with three long strides and walked Aziraphale against an old file cabinet. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s face and brushed his nose against the angel’s.

“Found you,” he whispered before pressing their lips together.

Crowley did not know if Aziraphale was too surprised to resist or if he had missed Crowley’s touch as much as the other way around, but he did not care. When Aziraphale sank into his arms with a sigh, soft and pliant, and surrendered into the kiss, Crowley was done for.

A feral sound escaped his throat as he dug one hand in the meat of Aziraphale’s hip while the other grabbed Aziraphale’s soft hair. Never breaking the kiss, Crowley pressed their bodies together when his hands started roaming over Aziraphale’s form.

Aziraphale did the same, but where Crowley’s touches were greedy and demanding, Aziraphale’s were tender and sweet.

“Going soft on me, angel?” Crowley chuckled against Aziraphale’s mouth and finally went for the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

Crowley could have snapped his fingers and be done with getting them both naked. But there was a part of him that felt that after searching for hints, playing detective and driving for hours, he should take his time to enjoy his prey after the hunt.

So he slowly divested Aziraphale of his clothes, layer by layer, humming in satisfaction at every inch of milky white skin he revealed.

Aziraphale himself was not idle, unbuckling Crowley’s belt and opening his fly. When the soft hands found Crowley’s cock, Crowley moaned into their filthy kiss. Squatting down fast, he took off Aziraphale’s shoes and trousers and manhandled Aziraphale towards an old desk.

Upon seeing Aziraphale wrinkle his nose, Crowley chuckled and snapped his fingers to remove the dust which had gathered over time.

“Better?” he asked.

“A little,” Aziraphale pouted. “But I’m the only one fully naked. That’s unfair.”

“I’m a demon, sweetheart,” Crowley said. “I don’t do fair.”

With that he bent Aziraphale over the desk – another miracle adjusting the height – and draped his own body across him.

“But you know that, don’t you?” he asked while gripping Aziraphale’s erection from behind.

“Yes, I do,” Aziraphale answered with a frantic nod. “Foul fiend.”

“Hmm, I like that.”

Crowley stood and moaned while he spread the luscious arse cheeks. It was a miracle that slicked his fingers, but then he proceeded the human way like he had done with the clothes. Carefully, but still determined, he pushed his fingers into Aziraphale’s channel, his cock twitching in anticipation as felt the tight walls around his knuckles. Satisfied, Crowley heard Aziraphale gasp as the demon found that special spot with experienced moves. Crowley chuckled as Aziraphale began to writhe and kept the angel in place with a firm hand on his back.

With skilled and swift moves Crowley fucked Aziraphale open and had Aziraphale squirming and moaning under him. When Crowley deemed Aziraphale ready, he freed his own dripping erection and prodded against the angel’s entrance.

“Ready?” he asked while the blunt head of his cock spread precum on Aziraphale’s arse.

Aziraphale nodded and sighed, earning himself a mild slap on the left butt cheek.

“Words, Aziraphale.”

“I thought you were a man of action not of words,” Aziraphale said, breathless but way to coherent for Crowley’s ego. After another slap however, he moaned, “Yes, I’m ready.”

“I still haven’t managed to fuck the sass out of you, have I?” Crowley growled. “Maybe this round will do the trick.”

Crowley slid home and immediately threw his head back in bliss. Oh, he had missed this. Wet and welcoming but still tight and so so hot. For leverage he grabbed Aziraphale’s broad hips and started thrusting, listening carefully to the sounds Aziraphale made. When an adorable high pitched scream told him that he had found the right angle, he smirked.

“Oh yes, you like that, hmm, angel?” he groaned. “So needy. So desperate for a cock up that lovely arse.”

“Crowley, please…”

“You’re lucky. No need to beg,” Crowley said. “I’ve been hard for you the moment I was on your trail.”

Picking up pace, Crowley made sure to hit the special spot again and again until Aziraphale was a sweaty begging mess. Crowley felt his climax nearing – it had been too long. Again he bent down so he could reach Aziraphale’s cock.

Between nibbling and licking Aziraphale’s sensitive earlobe, Crowley whispered more of the sweet and dirty things he knew Aziraphale liked. With every word and every movement, a little shudder went through the divine body.

“You know what I want, Aziraphale,” Crowley said lowly. “Come on my cock. I want to feel you tighten around me. I want to hear you scream.”

After a few more strokes and thrusts, Aziraphale did what Crowley demanded. He screamed and spilled himself over Crowley’s hand and the desk beneath them while his hot wet channel gripped Crowley’s manhood.

Overwhelmed, Crowley followed suit and rode them both threw their orgasm.

When the tension left their bodies, they slid to the floor, at the last second clinging to each other as not to hit their heads.

Breathing heavily, Aziraphale leant against Crowley’s shoulder. Unable to stop himself, Crowley pressed a kiss on the sweat damp curls.

“Gotcha,” he whispered with a smile and after a while, he asked, “Lift home?”

[1] Crowley never admitted to Satan that he had heard this while watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. That Master Splinter was one clever old rat.

[2] In the editor of course

[3] Okay, maybe he had copied and pasted them, but Crowley did not believe that for a second.


	2. Chapter 2

The idea of sex had Aziraphale curious and eager to try it for himself from the moment he – accidentally, really! – watched Adam and Eve doing it. They were so happy and relaxed!

But of course, Adam and Eve were taboo for him. And even if not, they were faithful to each other alone. Later there were other humans Aziraphale could have approached, but somehow it felt wrong doing it with them.

It was not that he was afraid of hurting them - he could control himself quite well, thank you very much. But no matter how much he liked a human, no matter how many interests he shared with them, in the end, the only thing left was always to raise his glass and drink to them, crying to fond memories after they were gone. It was bad enough with the few human friends Aziraphale had made, he could not even bear to think about the heartbreak of mourning a lover. Sure, humans had to bury their loved ones, too. But they did so in hopes of a reunion in the afterlife. There was no afterlife for the immortal though.

But the main reason to refrain from human lovers was that there was always this last big secret he could not reveal to them. While others may not have minded, Aziraphale did not want to share his body with someone before sharing with them what he really was.

Unfortunately this ruled out his fellow angels as well. Unlike the humans they knew of course that Aziraphale was an angel, but they did not know _him_ – and if they did, they’d despise him.

Yes, the angels knew of his nature and some humans knew of his soul, but nobody really, truly knew Aziraphale fully. But Aziraphale needed a connection for sex and in his opinion there could be no true connection without sharing the true self.

It was ironic to think where he finally found this connection. Especially since – strictly speaking – it was not a new connection. It was old, very rough at the edges (and not only at the edges actually), not exactly pleasant and yet it ran deeper and was truer than any other Aziraphale had.

Of course when Crowley proposed an “arrangement” that included sex, Aziraphale had reacted with shock (and sarcasm). Even after Crowley had showed him their other worldly counterparts happily engaging in Earthly pleasures with each other, Aziraphale had hesitated. After all Crowley was a demon! For Aziraphale he was even _the_ demon. The demon who was responsible for Aziraphale failing his first assignment on Earth, the one always wiling around in Aziraphale’s territory. Never truly cruel but pretty clever, good at tempting and really really really annoying.

And yet…

As Aziraphale started to think about his relationship with Crowley, he realized that nobody, mortal or immortal, came so close to knowing him as Crowley. Sure, Crowley did not know everything about Aziraphale there was to know, but unlike humans and angels Crowley did not believe in a lie about him. Crowley knew Aziraphale was an angel, knew Aziraphale felt more connected to Earth than to Heaven and knew Aziraphale enjoyed literature, the theatre and food.

So Aziraphale agreed. Without further ado, he allowed Crowley to accompany him to his bedroom where Aziraphale gave himself over to Crowley. He did not regret it. Sure, Aziraphale did not have much comparison, none at all to be precise, but he found Crowley to be an amazing lover.

Needless to say, the decision of turning the successful attempt into a full affair was an easy one. For a time being they even engaged in their exciting game between good and evil deeds and sex.

Then the almost catastrophe with the sick boy happened. But Crowley was fantastic as soon as he understood that a child’s life was on the line. After Aziraphale saved the child, Crowley waited for him outside the hospital. He listened, he comforted.

Then he took Aziraphale in his car.

As wild, almost desperate, as this encounter had been, it was full of a new tenderness. At least it seemed like it was to Aziraphale. Of course, Crowley had always been careful not to hurt Aziraphale, despite his obvious preference for rough sex. But this time, in the car, there was a reverence to his touches and looks which Aziraphale had not seen before. At least he had never noticed.

A hope for something Aziraphale had buried deep down in his heart bloomed inside him when he fell asleep afterwards in the protective embrace of Crowley’s strong arms.

But then he was awoken by a rather rude demon who apparently could not get away from Aziraphale fast enough. Crowley drove Aziraphale home, without looking at him once. Then he bid his good night and left.

With an unknown aching in his chest Aziraphale went to bed. He felt something, he should not feel. Something that was not part of the deal they had made. Maybe Crowley had somehow noticed and that was the reason he had been so cold?

This suspicion festered when Crowley did not show up in the following days. He did not call or write either. But then he was there. Not in the bookshop but in Soho. Aziraphale could feel a demonic presence and by now he could tell Crowley from his brethren. There was no doubt that Crowley was close by.

Each passing day the question why Crowley did not just come in and did what he did so well, burned hotter. One time Aziraphale was close to go looking for Crowley and ask, but did not dare. If he seemed too desperate or too invested, Crowley would surely back away and maybe never return.

One morning, to distract himself, Aziraphale decided to fulfil some angelic duties, even though by now it was more of a hobby than a duty. Most things were done with the right word spoken friendly into the right ear. Only rarely did he need to put in real effort.

There was only one item on his list that would need him to leave London: The nuns of the former “Chattering Order of St. Beryl”. The ladies that had escaped Hell’s purge after fulfilling their purpose, had regrouped and formed a new order. As an angel he should probably keep an eye on a bunch of Satanic nuns, even though he did not believe they posed a threat.

Shadwell, his informant from the witchfinder army, had found some material about them and their ventures. For examples, the nuns planned a bake sale soon which would be a good opportunity to have a look at their centre of operation (and to eat cake). But Aziraphale was hesitant to leave London and, with it, Crowley behind.

A thought crossed Aziraphale’s mind. What if he tried solving both his problems in one go?

Aziraphale closed his eyes and spread out his angelic senses. There! A familiar demonic presence. Not far away. Just across the street if he was not mistaken. Crowley was near.

Before Aziraphale could change his mind, he grabbed a pen and started scribbling more or less subtle hints on the back of the back sale flyer. Then he put it prominently on the desk in his bedroom.

Afterwards he rushed to his computer, wildly typed the names of the Satanic nuns he knew in a document and marked those of the living. He searched the former and the current name of their order and booked a B&B room near the convent. When he was done, he did not delete his browser history, even left most windows open and left the computer running.

He called a cab company for a ride to Bridgebardrew and half an hour later he was on his way.

*

Aziraphale enjoyed the lovely play of red and blue at the horizon as the sun wandered up behind the trees, throwing its morning light over the woods, the meadows and the grey stone masonry of the convent.

Smiling, Aziraphale took note that the nuns were still asleep. He assumed that being a satanic nun had its perks compared to their Christian counterparts. The nuns of this order prayed and worked as well but in their own time.

Actually, this was one of the few differences. With the whole Antichrist business being put ad acta, the order was not really a threat, Aziraphale found. Outwardly they behaved like their pious sisters, offering comfort, feeding the poor and collecting money for charities. The fact that they did not pray to Her[1], turned their crosses upside down when nobody was looking and did not start their days before sunrise was hardly a threat to society. Besides that, Aziraphale felt no damned aura around the building so he did not believe there was still an active alliance between the women and Hell.

At the bake sale the nuns had been friendly and warm, Aziraphale feeling no hidden agenda, wish to deceive or urge to harm. These were perfectly nice ladies.

Aziraphale sighed. He was not needed here. He knew that and he had known as he had left London. So why was he even here?

Because like a stupid besotted sapling he had left a trace, left obvious signs, hoping that a handsome demon would chase him down and catch him. That was why.

Shaking his head, Aziraphale started walking towards the convent.

Now that he strolled over the meadow in the fresh air of morning, the cool wind sobered him from this stupid fantasies. He felt very silly all of a sudden.

As much as Crowley visibly and audibly enjoyed their encounters, the demon hardly cared enough to go clue hunting in Aziraphale’s shop and then drive for the better part of the day to find him. Being completely honest, it was even presumptuous to believe Crowley had been in Soho because of Aziraphale. There were thousands of reasons for a demon to be there.

With a sigh Aziraphale let himself into the building and went upstairs. None of the nuns were in sight, but they would not notice him anyway, he had made sure of that.

His destination was one of the unused office rooms on the second floor. It was pretty much the centre of the building and therefor an ideal place to do a small protection miracle. Heaven and Hell were both unreliable at the moment and Aziraphale would not want the ladies of the St.Carolin-Order to get in the crossfire.

He had just found the perfect spot to do a miracle and lifted his hand, as the office door burst open. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. In the frame stood a familiar redhead, tall, slender and unfairly handsome.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked unnecessarily.

Crowley smirked and crossed the room.

“Found you,” he announced.

The next moment he had pulled Aziraphale into a filthy kiss. Aziraphale all but melted against Crowley. Too surprised and too happy that Crowley had come to find him after all, he was in no state to resist, not even for show.

Crowley took Aziraphale on an old desk (which he luckily cleaned before) and held him afterwards.

Through the haze of the afterglow Aziraphale heard Crowley offer him a lift home which he accepted with a slurred mumble. When Aziraphale could think clearly again, the sun was already full in the sky, indicating that he had been lying in Crowley’s arms for quite a while.

They got up, getting dressed in silence. But before they left, Crowley spoke.

“So what were you up to, angel?” he asked with a grin. “You’re not the type to blow up a convent, be it full of Satanists or not.”

“Oh, as a matter of fact, I was going to use a little protection miracle,” Aziraphale said, his cheeks heating up. “The nuns seem to be very nice and charitable. I would not want them to get hurt.”

Even though Aziraphale avoided looking at Crowley, he could feel the golden eyes on him.

“You…,” Crowley said, a strange timbre to his voice. “Erm, what?”

“They really do no harm,” Aziraphale said. “Quite the opposite. They have a very positive effect on the community and are in many aspects more open minded than a religious order. They do charity work and help those in need. Well, but now that you are here, you’d probably counteract any Divine miracle I would place here, wouldn’t you?”

For a while Crowley did not answer.

“You know what?” he said. “Do it. The only people who may want to hurt them are Heaven and Hell. And fuck them, right?”

“I’d rather not,” Aziraphale said with a mischievous tone. “But I agree with the sentiment.”

So he snapped his fingers, protecting the order as good as he could.

Somehow they made it to Crowley’s car unnoticed and Crowley started the motor. Aziraphale’s thoughts drifted off and after a while he was startled by a tapping sound. Confused, he looked up to find the driver’s seat empty. Another tap drew his attention to the passenger window. A grinning Crowley looked in and pointed at the door.

Oh. Aziraphale followed Crowley’s gaze and noticed that he was leaning against the door so Crowley could not open it without Aziraphale falling out of the car. Embarrassed, Aziraphale adjusted his position so Crowley could open the door for him.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and did not clarify if for opening the door or for not sending him flying to the ground.

“You’re welcome,” said Crowley with a smile.

For a moment a weird silence settled between them. After a while Crowley broke it by clearing his throat.

“We’re here,” he said, pointing at the Bed&Breakfast.

“Yes, we are,” Aziraphale said, feeling a certain heaviness in his stomach at the threat of Crowley leaving. Should he invite Crowley to come in for a drink? Strictly speaking, this was the wrong order. Usually beverages were consummated before they had sex. Just like they sometimes just chatted or joked before going to bed. Would Crowley want to spend time together without the prospect of sex? Not that Aziraphale would have minded another round. But what did Crowley think of it?

“I… could accompany you to your room,” Crowley suddenly said. “Get your stuff and drive you home. I mean now that the convent thing is… under control, you can leave, right? Or did you plan to see the Mustard Museum?”

He spoke the last sentence with a smile, but Aziraphale did not return it fast enough and the smile became a huge grin before Crowley laughed.

“You _were_ planning to see the Mustard Museum.” It was a statement not a question.

Aziraphale huffed. Usually he would say something about the willingness to broaden one’s horizon being a sign of intelligence and culture, but right now he was just grateful for a chance of prolonging Crowley’s company.

“Well, yes, no, you… you’re right,” he said. “I have things to do in London and I’m all done here so let’s go in and get my things.”

They entered the building. It was a rather small establishment, with up to six rooms up for rent. Upon stepping in, a large two winged door to the right lead into the dining room, a door to the left into a small garden and opposite to the entrance was the reception next to the stairs, leading to the second floor.

Tiffany, pretty young lady with long black curls, was sitting behind the desk, typing into the computer. When she saw them, she raised a brow and smiled a knowing smile.

But she only said, “Hello, Mr. Fell, how do you like Bridgebardrew so far?”

“It’s lovely, dear.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat up.

“Good to hear,” she said and turned towards Crowley with a sly grin, “And you, sir?”

“So far I had a great time.” Crowley winked at her.

Mortified, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley and dragged him up the stairs.

“Our rooms are all made for two, did you know?” Tiffany called after them.

“I like the girl,” Crowley chuckled.

“I did, too,” Aziraphale mumbled while he approached the door to room 2.

He turned the key in the lock and gestured Crowley inside.

The room was simple but clean and cosy. A small table with two chairs stood under the window, a comfortable bed with flowery linen stood beside a sturdy closet made of dark wood and a small door led to a functional bathroom.

Sunlight streamed in through the window which offered a beautiful sight on a lakeside, nestling against a deep green meadow.

Aziraphale suppressed a sigh. He would have loved to stay a bit longer and explore the small town as well as the lovely nature surrounding it.

“I don’t have many things,” he told Crowley. “Just get comfortable while I pack my…”

When Aziraphale reached for his bag to pack it, a large hand caught his wrist. He looked up and stared into Crowley’s face. An inscrutable expression lay on the demon’s sharp features.

With one swift move Crowley pulled Aziraphale against his lean chest and manoeuvred him against the door.

“On second thought, Mustard Museum sounds interesting,” Crowley whispered in Aziraphale’s ear.

“It… it does?” Aziraphale stammered.

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed. “In the right company, everything can be interesting… exciting even.”

“Well, I _did_ pay the room in advance…”

“Oh, really?” Crowley asked. “Well. Would be a shame if it went to waste, wouldn’t it?”

Aziraphale swallowed. Crowley’s hot breath on his skin was a distraction, but the warm feeling in Aziraphale’s chest captured him even more.

“You… would go to a Mustard Museum with me?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes,” Crowley answered immediately, but then he cleared his throat. In a darker, more demanding tone, he added, “You’ll make it worth my while tonight. Right, angel?”

Aziraphale only nodded, his throat to dry to answer.

“Good,” Crowley said, smug as ever, and took a look at his watch. “Museum closes over noon. So… Lunch?”

Before Aziraphale could answer, Crowley opened the door and dragged him out of the room. As they went done the stairs, Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“You know, there is also a petting zoo.”

“Don’t push your luck, angel.”

[1] She hated the regular prayers anyway. She preferred to only be bothered with emergencies and actually did not react to those very often either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! And thanks, town-generator for coming up with the town Bridgebardrew - couldn't have done it without you! xD
> 
> You can find the town-generator here: https://www.name-generator.org.uk/town/  
> It is part of the name-generator (https://www.name-generator.org.uk/) which is part of the plo-generator (https://www.plot-generator.org.uk/), in case you want to try it. :)
> 
> As always, let me know what you think. Your comments and kudos make my day! <3


End file.
